


Changeling

by Sunafiction_88



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Developing Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunafiction_88/pseuds/Sunafiction_88
Summary: Fen finds herself while finding her King.





	Changeling

 

'Tis I whose wretched soul

Takes discontent to be its paramour

 

Attempting a marriage with a man who had a clear preference for other men was the beginning of Fen’s singularity, but the catalyst was Margo. Or, at least, that’s a variation of what was written in the first chapter of her story, forgotten in the archives of a not-so-public library.

Physically Fen was on Earth and Eliot and Margo couldn’t have noticed her observing them through Julia’s hand mirror if they were inclined to. The room they were imprisoned in looked like it was made of plush clouds. Appropriations of Earth magic incorporated back into Fillory had interesting deviations. Earth was surreally stark, in Fen’s opinion, and therefore, also in Fen’s opinion, Earth magic channeled for Earth was unadorned because magic tended to take on the characteristics of a place. Fillory, as Eliot once cursed sleepily to the bunnies talking at the end of their bed, is the bastard of whimsy fucking a daydream, hence her cloud friends languishing in a cloud room inside a, presumably, cloud ship.

The two fogged figures, one tall and insubstantial, the other small but solid, like she were made of spiders silk rather than cloud, gesticulated airily at each other around their chains, “He’s a fatherfucking dick, Eliot.” Margo’s voice warbled, clear but dimmed like a gaslight.

“Fatherfucking?” Eliot responded with a fondness that made Fen feel lonely.

“Why is it always the mothers who’re fucked?”

Fen laughed at the irony but found the chuckle lose itself somewhere in her throat and the resulting splutter lost her some of the conversation.

“Bambie, how about we hold off executions until you’ve cooled down?” Margo made an imprecise noise of offense but had no other rejoinder. Rather, she let Eliot fold her into his arms; Margo must be exhausted.

Fen hadn’t known what Tick had planned, nor would she have gone along with it if she had. Still, some small part of her relished Margo and Eliot’s suffering. It was surprising because Fen had thought she’d processed what they’d taken from her. Had bore their apologies and come to terms with the pain. Eliot and Margo would be okay though, the Muntjac was airborne and on its way back to shore. Maybe that was why her subconscious had given her the luxury of pettiness.

Soon it would be the same as it always was, Eliot and Margo doing as they do, with or without her, and Fen left to shift the pieces of her country into functionality when everything inevitably shattered around them and their friends once more.

ʄ

And gives its kingdom to the rude control

Of what should be its servitor

 

It wasn’t only that Fen had lost a child. She’d lost the potential to have loved someone who’d needed her and who’d likely — when they could — choose to love her back.

Eliot needed love and Fen had tried pouring as much of hers into him as she could afford to lose without losing herself, but if it had held, it had sunk beyond a reserve she could see through. Fen hoped he was finding love somewhere. Not with Margo, who was his love in many ways, but with someone who’d quiet the howling emptiness he believed was in place of the heart Fen knew he had — gentler than he’d admit, deeper than he’d imagine, unquestionably there. It had taken a while for Fen to see that Eliot was using Fillory’s problems like a soul-healing, a therapy, and sometimes like a blast he was throwing himself in front of for Quentin and Margo. Fen wouldn’t be surprised if he never came back. He didn’t need Fillory anymore— Fillory may even be an obstacle from further growth, definitely from further happiness.

Fen knew that, like Eliot, she needed love. However, unlike Eliot, Fen was willing in her heart to sacrifice 'what ifs' for Fillory. It was honestly a privilege to serve her people.

Margo didn’t need love. Margo needed an empire.

Ruling Fillory was and would be the only thing keeping Margo’s bright, irrepressible energy from being wasted. She’d always put Fillory and its problems first, even when she hadn’t been bound by the same chains that had bound Eliot to Fillory. Fen was surprised to find herself wanting Margo here, missing her more than she missed Eliot. Each day that passed lay heavier on Fen, as if the crown were adding more gemstones to itself while she were distracted with acting-kingship. Margo was flawed, she’d bargained away Fen’s child to the fairies, but she’d also bargained away her best friend’s child to save him and Eliot was the only person Margo loved unconditionally. Fen didn’t know how to replicate Margo’s single-minded strength of character, her ability to make decisions and stand by her decisions were second to nobody Fen had ever met. That was why when Margo found her way back to Fillory, when she was entirely herself again, it felt natural for Fen to de-crown and crown Margo, the Destroyer, High King of Fillory, her husband.

The second time Margo came back to Fillory she was as Fen had never seen her before, nervy and heartbreakingly scattered, as ropeable as a kyoketsu-shoge (Todd had bought her a book on famous Earth blades in New York). The mood was catching and Fen ended the council meeting early. After seeing everyone out, she stayed behind and lowered herself in the throne next to Margo. Fen almost expected Margo to shoo her out of Eliot’s throne but she gave no indication she knew Fen was even there with her. Glowering sightlessly at the opposite wall, deep in thought.

Fen wondered if complimenting Margo’s eyebrows would make her feel better, Fen remembered Margo proudly mentioning how fleek her eyebrows were. Fen didn’t know how to interpret all Earth’s vernacular but Margo’s broodiness was disconcerting and Fen wanted to lighten her mood. When Margo finally shook herself out of her revery and looked at Fen it was with tolerant compassion, one marked by the splinters of guilt and condescension of post fairy realm. Fen’s jaw firmed, the desire to compliment and comfort Margo fading. Well fine, Fen had other things to discuss with the High King of Fillory.

“My King, I was reading one of the books you left behind and it said that abuse and violation may not be framed right by those with power?” Fen hesitated, still scandalized by the idea of republicanism, “It talked about monarchy as being particularly unjust…”

Margo’s fleeked eyebrows drew together into a warning, “Sweetheart, what are you getting at?”

“I think—”, Fen gripped the arms of Eliot’s throne, calming herself. “Fillorians aren’t nebulous. They, we, have problems that can be understood but we have a habit in the council of classifying thousands of people as ‘good’, ‘bad’, ‘stupid’, ‘needing control’ and it’s not that simple, is it?” Margo’s face was impassive for a moment but her eyes flickered impatiently and Fen took that as permission to go on, “You are Margo, the Destroyer, and I think Fillory needs to be destroyed. Not DESTROYED but _destroyed._ If we are unjust in this castle we can never have a just Fillory and I believe you can make Fillory…”

“Don’t say ‘Great Again’,” interrupted Margo archly.

Fen huffed in incomprehension and lent more bodily towards Margo, “I believe in you, completely, but I don’t think there are things you believe in that are conducive to a just society,” frowning fiercely, Margo opened her mouth again, Fen sped up to finish quickly, “like capital punishment, or conscription, or running off for a year.”

Margo was silent too long and Fen chanced to look at Margo closely through the side of her eyes, Fen’s heart was lurching at the idea of looking at her head on. Fen could tell Margo was angry, but she didn’t jump up with her quick-waving hands and fire-flashing eyes. She was looking at Fen like it was the first time she really had.

After a long pause, Margo finally replied, “Fen,” she drew out the syllable slowly, “what have I done to give you the impression I’d ever act against Fillory’s best interest?”

Margo’s intensity was difficult to stand against and Fen took a calming breath even as she was determined to hold Margo, eye for eye, this time. Fen didn’t say that she thought Margo would act against Fillory if it ever came to a choice between Fillory and Eliot. It went without saying.

Instead, she said, “When are we consummating our marriage?” The open shock on Margo’s face was representative of how Fen was feeling. She hadn’t meant to ask, but they’d moved close and Margo’s dark, powerful presence was jangling her nerves.

“We’re fucking married!” The words exploded from Margo in the same way she might say, “The sun fucking froze!”

Sucking in air, Fen hoped the 0.02% opium would take hold quickly. Oh Ember, she'd thought Margo had known. “My marriage is to the High King of Fillory. Eliot,” Margo’s face momentarily contorted in pain and Fen’s stomach twisted nauseatingly, she made a rapid note to ask her about Eliot later, “he didn’t have royal standing initially and my father wanted me in court. You’ve seen the marriage certificate; my spouse is the High King of Fillory, not Eliot Waugh. You’re High King. I-I thought you knew.”

Margo’s eye’s bore into Fen’s and rejection oozed into Fen’s chest, an almost comfortingly familiar disappointment. She began shifting away from Margo, removing herself.

Instead, Margo grabbed her by the upper arms in a fierce two-handed hold, dragging Fen closer, “No, sweetheart, stay. I’m sorry. I’ve seen the certificate and it is in-fucking-character for Fillory. It’s just, you, I wasn’t expecting, after,” Margo stopped and visibly gathered herself. Her expression changed, smoothed out. When her deep brown eyes latched onto Fen’s, they were mesmerizing, refusing to let her go.

Fen’s heart jumped erratically as the hands holding her loosened to a caress and traveled up her arms until Margo’s thumbs were tracing small circles against her neck and clavicle, lightheaded, Fen felt swallowed by a tide, “I—.”

“Is this okay?” Margo interrupted, voice deeper somehow, sexy, a smile flirting around her lips.

Fen made a wordless enthusiastic noise and Margo’s smile showed teeth. One of her hands cupped the back of Fen’s neck, unyielding, while the other moved up Fens jaw to trace her mouth. When Fen began to pant softly against one of Margo’s fingers in anticipation, she pushed it past the seam of Fen’s lips and into her mouth, back and forward. When her tongue tentatively touched the pad of Margo’s finger, Margo withdrew it, but Fen’s small sigh of protest was cut off when Margo replaced her finger with her mouth.

The kiss was unbearable— soft and hard and hot and deep. Fen thought she'd shake apart with the power of it. Lose herself in the force of nature that was Margo Hanson, her King. She’d never been kissed like she was truly desired, mouths not clashing but melting together, tongues stroking each other imploringly, lips molding against each other. Margo’s movements were fluid apart from the anchoring grip on the back of Fen’s neck, her upper body pressing into Fen’s accommodatingly, her other hand stroking down sinuously to press at places that had Fen moaning against Margo’s mouth.

They broke apart reluctantly, Margo’s dark eyes were darker, her russet-brown skin flushed, she looked pleased but otherwise unruffled. Fen felt ruffled— dazed, confused, despairing, hungry, infatuated.

“You’re responsive,” said Margo, her flickering smile went full wicked before settling into a contemplative line, “Tonight. Though you need to know that while we can fuck safely, I’m not clean. I’m also not monogamous,” she was watching Fen characteristically intensely, but had become uncharacteristically hesitant to continue, entering uncharted waters. “I care about you and I think _you_ will do great things for Fillory too.” Margo’s distractingly wicked smile was back, her hand brushing the hair from Fen’s face and resting against her cheek, “I’ll even think on what you were yammering about before,” stroking her cheek with her thumb, “but I’m not a romance person and you are.” Leaning in, a whisper from Fen’s mouth, “Our monarchy will rock this world, but we might find marriage difficult. Still down?”

Fen’s affirmative was muffled against their second kiss.

 

Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea

Contain it not, and the huge deep answer ''Tis not in me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poem extracts are from Oscar Wilde's, Humanitad.


End file.
